"Yes," said the Baron. "I find the name of the poor, dead Captain Cherriton an excellent recommendation in even the best of homes." He smiled his somewhat derisive smile.
A moment later the door opened and John Manton stepped into the room. Manners rose and held out his hand.
"My dear Treves," he said, "you have been away from me a very long time." He was thinking to himself that Treves carried himself a little better than usual; his gaze was more direct, his handgrip firmer. However, there was no suspicion in his eyes as he turned towards the younger man at the hearth.
"Captain Cherriton," he said, "this is a young friend of mine, Mr. Treves."
For a moment Rathenau's light blue eyes widened, and then narrowed.
"We've met before, Mr. Treves?"
"In the square, half an hour ago. I saw you come in."
"Oh, yes, yes," returned the Baron. "My good friend, Mr. Manners, has been telling me about you."
"I hope he had something complimentary to say," smiled John Manton. He was thinking to himself: "There is no doubt at all in my mind that this big, fat man, Mr. Manners, is a German. His finger nails are cut neatly to a point." John recalled the habit of the Germans he had met at Feldkirch, of the masters of his school, who had trimmed their nails in that particular fashion. Rather a Chinese fashion, John thought. His eyes travelled from the fat man's face and took in the younger man's hard countenance. He was recalling something he had read of Captain Cherriton.
"I think I remember reading something about you, Captain Cherriton," he ventured.